


First Call

by Diary



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dyslexic Jaime Lannister, Family, Friendship/Love, Jaime Lannister Wears Reading Glasses, Late Night Conversations, Lawyer Brienne of Tarth, Modern Era, On Hiatus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Police Officer Jaime Lannister, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: AU. Inspector Lannister has made many, many, many choices she disagrees with in his life, but most of them haven’t so personally, directly involved her. WIP.
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	First Call

“It’s three in the morning.”

The words sound dullard to Brienne’s own ears, but she’s not so much angry or curious as sleepily aware it’s 3-something in the morning.

DI Jaime Lannister’s voice says something about an arrest.

“I don’t- with all due respect, Inspector, I don’t care who you’ve arrested. Why are you calling me at, it’s literally 3:15 in the morning?”

Then, the realisation her father or someone she cares about might be the one arrested hits her, and she doubts, even to gloat, Lannister would call her, but if he is-

“Are you incapable of hearing at 3:15 in the morning? I’ve been arrested! And I’m going to have to get off the phone very soon.”

“What?”

He barks out his station’s name, and then, the line goes dead.

A large part of her is tempted to go back to bed.

Instead, she splashes water on her face, and after pouring a cup of her cold brew tea, she calls King Landing’s police station.

“Oh, hello, Lady Tarth,” DC Samwell Tarly greets. “Um, yes, Inspector Lannister was arrested on suspicion of murder earlier tonight.”

“He’s represented by counsel and not to be questioned,” automatically falls out of her mouth.

Hanging up (without saying goodbye, how rude, some part of her guiltily realises), she rubs her temples.

Gods, she’s tired. And none of this makes any bloody sense.

She hadn’t taken her usual nightly bath last night, and there’s no time now, but she definitely needs a quick shower as well as slapping on some deodorant before going down.

…

By the time she’s showered and dressed, she’s got things worked out: Assuming Lannister hasn’t already handled things, she’ll call up someone in his family, and a high-priced legal defender, likely Varys, will be down within the hour.

At times like these, she wishes she had a car. For all she hates driving and stubbornly tells herself, even though, yes, walking or using public transportation realistically isn’t going to do anything to fix climate change, at least, she can honestly say she’s doing her best not to make it worse, a car would be preferable to trying to get an Uber at almost 4 in the morning.

However, she does manage to get an Uber with a driver who shows no signs of aggression or mental instability.

Of course, she realises, this doesn’t mean she should have stood right outside her flat building to be picked up.

Just get Inspector Lannister legal counsel, she orders herself. Once that’s settled, you can take a personal day and sleep.

Her stomach squirms at the thought.

Well, no, it probably wouldn’t be good to take a personal day, but assuming she doesn’t get any new cases, leaving a little early would be justifiable.

“Lady Tarth!” Looking at her with relieved eyes, Constable Tarly gives her a nervous smile. “Um, he’s down to his boxers. We- some people weren’t sure about giving them back, but he really was going to- just stand around starkers, he’s refusing to put on the-”

“Sam- DC Tarly, take a deep breath, and tell me whatever you can from the beginning.”

He hands her a cup of heavily milked coffee, and there’s still not enough to get rid of the coffee taste, but she’ll admit, it’s doing a better job at getting her focused than her tea did.

“Robert Baratheon is dead. And Jon’s found evidence it was Inspector Lannister. Ins- Jaime Lannister hasn’t contacted anyone else in his family. We’ve got him processed, except, he’s refusing to put on the holding uniform.”

She doesn’t have a right to see the evidence gathered. Even being told this much is on incredibly shaky ground.

“Could I see him?”

The answer might be no, and if so, she’s going to have to figure out how to contact the Lannisters on her own. Inspector Lannsiter might go after her for that, but then, he shouldn’t have called in the middle of the night.

…

The answer is yes, but since she’s not his counsel-

“Any jewellery,” Inspector Snow asks.

“No.” Taking off her watch, she sets it in the box. She’d worn an old tank top under her blouse, no underwire. Sandals. No belt on her trousers.

They wave a metal detector wand over her, but they don’t pat her down.

Likely, it’s due to Inspector Snow having some professional courtesy towards her. She’s always gotten the feeling he doesn’t personally like her, but he’s loyal to the uniform, and by extension, non-uniform employees of the justice system.

Lannister isn’t loyal to the uniform. He’s not loyal to justice, either, but if there’s one good thing she can say about him, at least, he’s an upfront person. He became a copper to piss off his father. He doesn’t care if a person is guilty or innocent, but he does take pride in doing a good job. He doesn’t like most of his co-workers, and if not for liking this blasted rivalry she’s been trying to extract herself from for years, he’d have absolutely no use for her.

“You’ll be monitored unless you become his counsel.”

“I won’t, but yes, I understand.”

She almost asks for some more coffee.

“This way, Lady Tarth. I’ll have some spiced tea delivered.”

Pure gratitude runs through her. “Thank you.”

Going into the interrogation room, she can’t help her sigh.

There’s no more fog.

Jaime Lannister is stripped down to his boxers, and she’s in a police station at 4:10 in the morning.

It’s not as if she doesn’t know what he looks like completely naked, and maybe, it’s the irritation at the whole situation, but her pulse is steady, and she imagines, for once, her face isn’t red enough to win a tomato contest.

“Should I call your father or brother?”

They must not know about his good brother’s death, yet. The one person she can’t call is his sister.

“Neither. Look, I know I fu-”

“We’re being monitored,” she quickly says.

“What?” His eyes sharpen. “Snow wouldn’t be that incompetent. Or did you fail to make it clear you’re my counsel?”

“I’m not. Inspector Lannister, I’m here to call whoever you need me to call. I don’t know if this is you simply trying to make my life even harder or if you actually need someone to explain things, but whichever it is, I’m here. If it’s the former, hopefully, you’ve had your fun. Either let me help you, or I’m leaving.”

Only getting one phone call is a widespread inaccurate idea the general public has. She personally blames Hollywood, though, it’s not as if Westeroi media has helped curb the idea any.

Still, if Lannister keeps being, well, him, there’s a good chance his family isn’t going to know about this until it’s on the evening news.

“I need you,” he quietly says, and his voice is unnervingly serious.

“I’m a child’s advocate,” is what comes out.

Maybe, some of the fog is still there. Gods, she hopes there really will be some spiced tea soon.

He shrugs. “You disagree with holding uniforms, too. Yet, I’d wager you’d put one on due to the sexualisation of the female breast despite your aggravation with society’s continuing insistence on perpetuating such attitudes.”

“Yes, probably,” she agrees. “Look, Inspector Lannister, I am here as a professional courtesy. It’s no secret I disagree with you both personally and professionally, but a copper being accused of murder needs more help than the average civilian. If you’ll tell me who to call, I will, and then, if you want, I’ll wait with you until your counsel arrives.”

To her shock, he sinks down into the chair. “Brienne- Lady Tarth, please, help me. There are things I can’t say, but I didn’t do this.”

Looking down into his eyes, she believes him.

But he did either do something wrong or does know something the police don’t about this case.

“If you’re innocent, then, of course, I want this all cleared up. For you to be free, and hopefully, still have your job. But, Inspector Lannister, I am- work in child advocacy. I rarely argue in front of a judge, never mind a courtroom. I’ve never dealt with a murder case. If you’ll take this seriously, I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe and protect your rights until someone qualified to help you gets here, but I can’t do more than that.”

Leaning back, he scoffs. “You can. You are qualified to-”

“I have a license, yes. That doesn’t mean I’m qualified. I mostly mediate custody agreements involving bickering parents. My biggest case involved a parent breaking a custodial agreement out of genuine fear for the safety of their child.”

“Yeah, I read about that kidnapping case.”

She takes a deep breath. Technically, it was kidnapping. However, she’s proud to have defended that mother. What that horrid excuse for a man was doing to her child- the mother did the right thing.

“Then, you know I could have done better.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have time for your- I want this done right, Lady Tarth. My family will throw money around, Varys or whoever they hire will use all sorts of tricks, and I’ll be free. I might even still have my job. But that isn’t what I want. I hated Rob-”

“We’re-”

Giving an impatient wave, he says, “Let me finish. I hated Robert Baratheon. If not for being in here, I couldn’t care less about his death. Well, maybe, that’s not true. Maybe, I’d be happy. But,” his eyes hold hers, “I swear to you, I didn’t kill him. I didn’t play- I didn’t know anything about his death until I was being arrested in the middle of the night. And I don’t want there to be any doubt. At least, not reasonable doubt.”

There have been a few times Inspector Lannister has impressed her.

She understands. She wouldn’t want someone to just sweep such an accusation against her away, either. She’d want to try to prove she was innocent.

“May I sit down?”

He outright rolls his eyes before making an assenting motion.

“I do understand,” she says. “You know that I do. But this doesn’t change the fact I’m not qualified to represent you. I could find you an honest, competent defender in a few hours. Would you like to-”

“I don’t know any of them!”

Shocked by the harshness in his tone, studying him, she sees he looks more tired than she’s seen him in a long time.

He takes a breath. “Lady Tarth, it’s not that I don’t trust your judgement, because, honestly, I do. But I don’t know any defender you could find as well as I do you. You’re right, we disagree on many things, both personally and professionally. I probably wouldn’t want you for anyone I loved. That being said, I know you’ll fight for me the right way.”

Before she can say anything, he continues, “I do think things through. I just come to decisions quicker than you. If something goes wrong, I could end up in prison. Possibly for life. And being an ex-detective, that could be a very short life. I know this, and it’s a risk I’m fully prepared to take. If I were going to kill someone in cold blood, then, that’s the person I’d be.”

“I’ve killed three people,” he quietly says. “Most officers go their whole lives without firing their weapon once. I got unlucky. I didn’t lie, I didn’t hide behind the uniform, and aside from wishing I hadn’t been unlucky, I don’t feel bad. Robert Baratheon isn’t the fourth person. If I get unlucky again, then, I do. But I want to do this right, and that means getting someone I know for sure won’t lie, won’t cut corners, and whatever your personal feelings towards me, will genuinely want to see me walk free.”

He’s determined. More than his words, his eyes are resolved.

Inspector Lannister has made many, many, many choices she disagrees with in his life, but most of them haven’t so personally, directly involved her.

“If I don’t do this, you’re going to insist on a public defender, aren’t you? And probably fire more than one until a judge gets fed up with you and orders in absentia bench trial, aren’t you?”

“Hm.” Giving a slight nod, he looks at her steadily.

“Put some clothes on.”

“They took my clothes.”

“Inspector Lannister,” she can’t quite keep the exasperation out of her voice, “if I do this, I need you to take this seriously.”

“Does that mean you’re my counsel?”

“I’m someone trying to help you, at least. I know you don’t want to put on the holding uniform. As established, I understand. However, you need to start cooperating with the police a little more. Will you please put it on?”

“Not until I get counsel.”

“Even the guilty deserve representation. That said, I don’t think you’re lying. I believe you’re innocent. What I’m not sure of is how well you’d let me do my job if I became your counsel.”

“I don’t want to go to prison,” is his simple response. “I’d like to still have my job. Most of all, I’d like it known that I’m not responsible for Baratheon’s death. Can I promise you I won’t do anything stupid? No. I will promise you, Lady Tarth, that I will try my best to help you help me.”

“Alright. I’ll inform Inspector Snow that I’m your counsel. Now, as your counsel, I’m asking you to put on the holding uniform.”

“Fine,” he huffs out.

There’s a knock at the door, and trying her best to shield him, she opens it.

“Inspector Snow told me to tell you he turned the cameras and audio off as soon as you said you were Inspector Lannister’s counsel,” Constable Tarly says. “Someone will bring you all the evidence so far along with your tea.”

“I need my glasses back,” Lannister says.

Bracing herself, she turns around, and to her shock, thankfully, he’s gotten dressed.

“Yes, he’s right.”

About a year or so ago, Lannister was forced to get reading glasses, and he’s been surprisingly sensitive about this. In truth, though, he likely could get by without them, but whether he’s simply trying to get any sort of power he can back from the police or not- “He has the right to be able to read and look over the evidence gathered, too, and denying him his glasses could hinder that ability.”

“I’ll talk to Inspector Snow.”

…

“Let them find out from the evening news.”

“They’re your family.”

He scoffs. “I really hope, as someone who’s dealt with abusive and otherwise dysfunctional families-”

“Whether your family is dysfunctional or not, they aren’t abusive.”

“To me. My little brother never had a chance once my mother died.”

Along with his upfront nature, she respects Lannister for his unconditional love for and protectiveness towards his younger brother.

Now, however- “Do you really want him finding out like that?”

He shrugs. “It won’t upset him. Too much, at least. Mostly, he’ll be exasperated.”

Since he’s probably right, she steels herself. “And what about your sister? Do you plan to let her find out her husband is dead and her brother is being charged for it that way?”

Drumming his fingers against the table, he says, “Cersei’s in rehab. She has been for the last eight days. I’m hoping this will all be sorted before she’s out.”

“Oh.” Probably should have paid more attention to those tabloid stories, she thinks. She’d believed the story about Cersei Lannister going on a spa holiday in Europe, and all those conspiracy theories had struck her as ridiculous. “Um, I’m not trying to pry-”

“No, of course, you’re not. You’re my legal representative. You’re just trying to find out everything necessary.” He gives the facility’s name. “I’m honestly not sure if she’s addicted or not, but ever since she started cutting back on her wine drinking, she’s been relying on sleeping pills more and more. We fought, and I won.”

“Eight days ago, I made sure she was properly checked in. No contact with the outside world for the first month. Joffrey’s been staying at a hotel near the place and doing his schoolwork online. Robert doesn’t- didn’t care, as long as he didn’t have to deal with him.”

There’s a knock on the door.

She opens it, and Constable Tarly hands her a cup of warm spiced tea. Next to him, Inspector Snow is holding a pile of folders with a pair of glasses sat on top of them.

“We need this interrogation room, Lady Tarth. I’ll escort you and-”

“Snow.”

She manages to bite down, _Oh, do be quiet_.

Turning, she tries to impart this with her eyes, but keeping steady eye contact with Inspector Snow, Lannister ignores her.

“I’m not going to try to escape. You know that I wouldn’t try to hurt her and that she wouldn’t help me try to escape. Put us in a private cell.”

“Lady Tarth,” Inspector Snow asks.

“Yes, I’d appreciate that,” she says.

“Alright. I’m not going to cuff you, but if you try anything, you will be transferred to the black cells.”

She hopes she didn’t flinch.

Certain prisons, including the men’s prison in King’s Landing, have windowless cells with no lights, no bed, nothing but a bucket. The more neutral term of ‘solitary confinement cell’ is used by the prisons. The fact it’s often people of colour and those mentally ill thrown in them is something only certain mainstream media outlets will touch.

Lannister could survive it. He wouldn’t bite out his own wrist or drown himself in his own urine.

“I’m sorry, Lady Tarth,” Inspector Snow says. “I’m not doing this to try to intimidate your client. I doubt that’d work, anyways. But I can’t risk an officer accused of murder putting anyone here in danger.”

“I understand.”

…

Once the cell door shuts, Lannister gestures to the bed.

Shaking her head, she hands him the files, and kicking off his slippers, he gets on the bed.

Looking out the window, she makes sure everyone is truly gone before bringing a chair over to the bed. Digging the blue pens and highlighters out of her pocket, she sits.

“I’ve only told one lie.”

“You knew about the murder before you were arrested.”

“Yes. You’re not surprised?”

“That isn’t the word I’d use.” Repressing a sigh, she debates how to ask. If he is guilty- the legal system is a game. The rich can often literally get away with murder, society makes criminals out of genuinely decent people, and defenders and prosecutors debate and do paperwork battles to see if a person, regardless of innocence, will or won’t be thrown in a cage, socially ostracised, and/or chained in monetary debt they can never escape.

She realised all this too late. She had too many student loans to back out of law school, and she’s still paying them off.

Some people genuinely do need to be kept out of regular society, though, she’d prefer they be in a humane, hospital-like setting, but Lannister isn’t an uncontrollable killer. If he’s guilty and she manages to get him free, Baratheon will likely be his last victim.

“I didn’t kill him, Lady Tarth. That wasn’t a lie.”

“Do you know who did?”

Adjusting his glasses, he sets an open file in her lap, and she’s surprised to see there are two sets of reports with one set containing blue-coloured dyslexic-friendly font printed on pale pink papers. “They found me covered in his blood at the crime scene. I was erasing video footage from the security system. They won’t be able to retrieve it.”

Well, there’s no way in hell he’s getting his job back, she knows. Gods, no wonder Inspector Snow is trying to be so kind to her. She’s the fool who was sitting in an interrogation room thinking that, perhaps, there was a chance an innocent man wouldn’t be completely brought down by an honest mistake.

“What happened?”

“I could argue that I was trying to preserve it,” he says. “I know you wouldn’t argue that for me-”

“Lannister, tell me who did this.”

Letting out a painful sound, he presses back against the wall, and he’s not an old man, at most, he’s pushing upper middle-age, but for all she’s seen him tired, resigned, and defeated, she’s never seen him look so old.

“It was Joffrey.”

“Your- nephew.”

He scoffs. “He’s my son, Lady Tarth. He’s a vicious, horrid little,” he uses a word she’d never use, no matter how much she agrees Joffrey Lannister-Baratheon isn’t a good person, “and I’ve never been a father to him, not really, but he’s my blood. Cersei’s blood. Our blood. And I will die in prison if it means he’ll stay free and have all the opportunities our family can give him. Having a murderer uncle won’t taint his social standing anymore than having a dwarf one has.”

Why, she almost asks.

It doesn’t matter. If she did something wrong, she’d never expect her father to take the blame for her. If she had a child who did something as terrible as murder, as much as she wouldn’t want them to go to prison, as much as she’d try to help them in every other way she could, she wouldn’t be going in their place. Mercy and compassion are wonderful things, but there comes a time when people should face the consequences of their actions.

“You know that I can’t- I won’t put you on the stand.”

He nods.

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

“I had a burner phone that no one but Cersei, Tyrion, and Joffrey knew about. It was only supposed to be used if there was an emergency and I was on a case. Last night, Joffrey called me from another burner. He’d snuck out of the hotel, came home, and- it wasn’t self-defence, but that doesn’t matter. I was disrupting the crime scene when Snow and Pyp showed up.”

“You believe it was premeditated?”

“I know it was. I don’t know if me being caught was or not.”

“How in the seven hells-”

“I’m not asking you to understand it, Lady Tarth. It’s done. Now, please, try to help me.”

“Do you believe he covered his tracks well?”

“Yes. As far as everyone knows, he was in his hotel room when it was happening. Snow and the others believe I was trying to cover up what I did.”

“Why did they show up?”

He gestures to the files. “Joffrey tripped the alarm.”

“Intentionally?”

She hates his shrug.

“Does anyone else in your family know?”

“Not yet. Tyrion might figure it out. I tell you, he’s wasted in boardrooms. He could have been the best private eye Westeros has seen since the middle ages.”

“Then, along with Joffrey, I won’t question him on the stand. I’m going to have to try my best to keep both completely off of it. Are you sure you don’t want-”

“No. I want you.”

“Okay. Um, look,” she tries not to shift, “if I can’t keep you out of prison, I won’t bother your family for money, but if I can- I’m going to have to deter all future assignments until this is done, and I’m not going to get a salary until I’m working assignments again.”

Opening his eyes, he looks at her with a genuine smile.

She would have expected amusement or contempt or both, but there’s none of either.

“If you keep me out of prison, I’ll pay you whatever you think is fair. In the meantime, you work for me, but if my family offers you financial help, take it. I don’t want you hiking all across town and living on instant noodles while you’re defending me.”

“Public transportation is very reliable during the day.”

“If you have the money to pay for it.”

She silently concedes the point.

As for the other, though, she’s lucky. She lives near a Chinese restaurant, and in exchange for her helping them unload boxes whenever the delivery truck comes, they let her have her pick of any leftovers she wants at the end of every day. There are a lot of noodles, yes, but they’re tasty, warm, healthy noodles with plenty of other food to go with them.

There’s a knock on the door, and she starts to get up to open it, but when Lannister puts a hand on her arm, she remembers, she literally can’t.

Inspector Snow comes in with bags from Hot Pie’s pub. “Lady Tarth, Sam ordered you a steak and kidney with scrambled eggs and potato waffles. He said that was your usual breakfast.”

“It is. Thank you.”

He hands her a bag. “Lannister, he ordered you an egg in the basket with bacon and some sliced tomatoes and cheese. Here’s some cups. You’re both going to need to make do with tap water if you want something to drink.”

She sees Lannister is about to say something, and as his defence counsel, she is not allowed to kick him. It’s the height of unprofessionalism, potentially a disbarring offence-

And she just kicked him.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Snow says.

His amusement rankles. Not liking Lannister is one thing, and for all she herself once chased Lannister down a suburban street with a butcher’s knife, he shouldn’t be turning a blind eye to a prisoner’s counsel assaulting them.

“He still wishes you’d managed to plunge that knife into me,” Lannister says.

Realising Snow’s gone, she retorts, “You should have identified yourself as police.”

“I did.”

“With Detective Constable Greyworm’s badge!”

The most logical assumption when a white man presents the badge of a black woman is that he stole the badge, she maintains.

Rolling his eyes, Lannister begins eating his food.

She starts taking hers out. “I’ll try to find out who the court’s prosecutor will be. Depending on who it is-”

“I’m not taking a plea deal. I didn’t do this. I won’t accept any implication of guilt in order to get a lighter sentence.”

Filling up their cups, she considers her words. “How far are you willing to go to protect your- Joffrey, Detective Lannister? If you’re found not guilty, the investigation into Baratheon’s murder will continue.”

“I don’t want you to receive any sentence, but I can protect you, or I can try to help you protect him. I won’t lie or otherwise disgrace my oath as an agent of the courts, but I will work within the rules to try to do whichever you want. I don’t think I’ll- there’s a good chance I won’t be able to do both.”

His sigh fills the cell, and setting his food aside, he leans against the wall.

The sight hurts, and it truly hits her he’d be better off with Varys or some other defender. Even if he doesn’t want someone like Varys, there are honourable ones who are better than she’ll ever be.

“I have to protect him,” he quietly says. “It’s not just him. If he goes down, his mother- Cersei- he’s the most important thing we’ve ever done. I didn’t say ‘good’. He’s not. Us doing it, making him, it wasn’t. But he’s important. And I can’t particularly blame him for this.”

Unsure how to respond or even if she should, she looks over at the files.

“I don’t have room to talk. I was a shit uncle, never mind a father. I’m not a father, not really. And maybe, subconsciously, Robert knew. He never cared about the boy. He never taught him to ride a bike, showed any interest in any of the sports and other clubs Cersei got Joff involved in. Cheated on her all the time, never even tried to hide it.”

She takes a breath. “I’m not trying to be unsympathetic here, but this doesn’t answer my question. You don’t need to tell me any of this. At least, not right now. I believe you didn’t do it. I’m not going to report the fact Joffrey did. I agree, your sister likely shouldn’t be informed of any of this right now, but I am going to keep encouraging you to have your family contacted before they find out through other means.”

Laughing, he brings his food back to his lap. “Fair enough. Him. I need to protect him. I’d rather not take a plea deal, but if a good enough one is offered, I will. If I manage to get free, he’s going somewhere far away for a while. Europe, the States, it doesn’t matter. I’ll get things cleaned up so that-”

“Don’t tell me about any potential future illegal activities you plan to commit,” she orders.

He nods.

“Now, I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this, but the best way to keep you off the stand might be for me to argue…”

…

Setting down the notebook Constable Tarly was kind enough to obtain for her, she says, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

At his alarmed look, she quickly adds, “I’m not leaving. I just need to use the loo.”

“There’s a toilet in here.” He gestures to it.

She doesn’t know if he’s joking or japing or not, but it doesn’t matter. Short of ever being unlucky enough to end up in a jail cell as a prisoner, she’s not-

“I’ll stand at the door and block the window. I just- don’t want them to come back until they have to.”

He’s sincere, she knows, but she’s not feeling particularly sympathetic.

At the same time- he’s already seen her naked, and once, she stood near when he relieved himself. She didn’t look, and if he says he won’t now, she knows she can trust that.

“Fine,” comes out.

He blocks the window, and undoing her trousers, she sits down on the toilet.

This isn’t right, forcing people to endure this, goes through her head, followed by his mocking voice, _You’re too bloody idealistic, Tarth, and I don’t have the time for it. No one does. Be a bleeding heart somewhere else._

Funny, she reflects as she looks at the back of his head, how I’m the first call.

It takes longer than she’d like, is loud enough to make her wince, and an embarrassingly sharp smell fills the cell, but eventually, pulling up her trousers, she flushes. “Alright.”

He turns back around, and she washes her hand with water. Prisoners are allowed soap, but his cell currently doesn’t have any.

They sit down, and she says, “Depending on who will be prosecuting-”

“Do you think- I don’t believe what Cersei and I have done is a sin. But there are many cases of incest-born children being bad. Do you think Joffrey is like this because of-” He trails off.

Thoughts of _why me_ swirl around, but taking a deep breath, she sets the papers down. “Typically, weakened immune systems and blood disorders are more common than mental illness in people born of incest. And mental illness is more common in everyone than simply being bad. Your son is lucky enough to be strong and healthy. I can’t say if he has any mental illness, but if so, they aren’t noticeable to the average eye.”

“I don’t know about his home life, Inspector Lannister. I don’t know much about your family.”

“Except for the fact you don’t like any of them.”

“I don’t even know your sister, and whether anyone of you, including her own husband, considers her to be family or not, I have a great deal of respect for Lady Shae. What I’m getting at is, I can’t say what’s to blame for him being like this, but I can honestly say I doubt it’s the fact you and your sister had him.”

“I don’t know,” he says almost too quietly to hear. “Cersei and I aren’t good people. I used to think she was. But she’s not. And I’m not.”

“Again, I don’t know your sister. I hope you’re not expecting me to disagree about you, however.”

He looks up, and finally, there’s some amusement in his eyes.

She’ll feel better when the contempt shows back up, too.

“You’re not a good person. Fair or not, I find it hard to believe you ever were, even as a child. Is having these conversations going to help in court? If so, I will talk about your uncertainties, any regrets you have, and so for as long as it takes. If it won’t, though, then, I suggest you save it for when you’re walking a free man again.”

He studies her, and she resists the urge to- well, she can’t just hurry out of the room.

“Fair enough. You know, I do respect the fact you’re always honest.”

“And I respect that about you.” Ignoring his look of surprise, she picks the papers back up.

…

“I need to leave now. Are you going to be okay? You’re not going to do anything stupid?”

He studies her with almost malicious amusement. “Are you talking about me antagonising people or committing suicide?”

“The former. If I were worried about the latter, I would call your father and brother regardless of what you wanted.”

“Thank you,” he quietly says.

“Are you going to be okay,” she repeats.

“Yes. I promise, I’ll try to be civil. Keep myself entertained without running my mouth.”

“Good.”

Getting up, she goes to knock on the cell door, and within a minute or two, Sam is unlocking it.

…

Almost as soon as she steps out of the station, a taxicab pulls up, and Podrick Payne, a legal secretary from her firm, gets out. “Lady Brienne! My lady, someone from here called me to tell me that you had a case.”

Well, thank the gods someone did, because, as she realises with a mixture of guilt and horror, she didn’t contact anyone to let them know: 1. She wouldn’t be in at her usual time, and 2. She’s taking an outside case.

“Er, yes. I’m sorry, Pod. I should have called myself. Jaime Lannister has been accused of killing his good brother.”

“Robert Baratheon?” He looks at her with wide eyes. “Is he- um, I know it doesn’t matter, but guilty or innocent?”

Innocent, she almost says.

“He didn’t do it, Pod. Would it be okay if we took this cab back to the office?”

“Of course, my lady.” Putting up the wallet he was digging through, he reopens the door.

“Thank you.” She gets in.


End file.
